


The World Was Wide Enough

by the_girl_with_the_coffee



Series: The World Was Wide Enough [1]
Category: Broadway - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda, theatre - Fandom
Genre: Alex Hamilton, Broadway, Hamilton - Freeform, John Laurens - Freeform, Lams - Freeform, Laurens, M/M, Musical, Musicals, Theatre, duel, the world was wide enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:39:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_girl_with_the_coffee/pseuds/the_girl_with_the_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The duel between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, from the view of someone no longer there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Was Wide Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zetasocieties](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetasocieties/gifts).



> Part one in a series showcasing the viewpoints of various characters watching the duel in "The World Was Wide Enough". One of four parts.

                Alexander is going to get himself killed.

                He doesn’t think it maliciously; he doesn’t even hope for it, even though he knows that if Alex were to die, they would be reunited again. If Alex were to die, Eliza would be left alone; his children – seven now, now that Philip has joined him on this side – his children would be fatherless; his family would be penniless; his legacy would be permanently marred by the stupid essay he’d written about the Reynolds affair.

                Perhaps Alexander is deliberately seeking out his death; after Philip died, something seemed to go out of him. He was no longer the same man; no human being could be, but sometimes he wondered if Alexander would rather be gone from the world.

                He wouldn’t necessarily blame him. It was a selfish notion, wishing for one’s own death when one had a family to care for, of course it was, but he couldn’t blame him. Everyone else was dead – himself, Philip, Washington, any family Alex had ever had, even Peggy Schuyler, his wife’s sister, his friend.

                Perhaps he is deliberately chasing death. Perhaps that is why he seems to tempt Aaron Burr so thoroughly – why every word is sarcastic, biting, even cruel at times; why he does not try to talk his way out of the duel; why he writes a letter to be delivered to Eliza after his death. Perhaps he is planning for this; perhaps he is committing suicide via Aaron Burr.

                Then again, perhaps this is just Alexander being Alexander, unwilling or unable to back down from a duel. Perhaps he is wrong, perhaps he is about to see Aaron Burr die, red blooming across his jacket, his own child left an orphan. He wouldn’t weep if Burr were to die; they had never gotten along; if anything, he would feel pity for Burr’s daughter, though even she was already an adult by this point.

                The place Burr has chosen – a grassy field in Weehawken, accessible from a short boat ride across the Hudson – is the same place Philip Hamilton was shot. For a moment, he can almost see it all happening, a half-colored reenactment marred by blur and shadow – Philip and George Eacker, backs to each other – Philip, his gun aimed at the sky at the count of six – the two of them turning, Eacker moving faster, Eacker firing his pistol – the bullet striking Philip, Philip crying out, Philip falling, Philip passing into the same twilit afterlife that he now inhabits.

                He tears himself away from the scene, watches Alexander cross the Hudson with Nathaniel Pendleton and a doctor. It is the same doctor that treated Philip, his efforts all in vain; maybe his presence here is a bad omen, a warning of further death to come. Burr is already there, pacing the terrain like a caged animal – he has not noticed the difference in Alexander lately; he is convinced that he will not leave this place alive. Alex is wearing his glasses, the ones he hates, the ones he only wears when he is trying to focus – and perhaps in this occasion what he wants to focus on is the killing of Aaron Burr.

                Philip, Burr, Hamilton – one of them will die here today, that much is certain, it is only a matter of which – how many people will die in this spot? How many of them will join him on this side; how many people need to die here? Burr and Alexander argued about duels once, long ago; Burr considered them cruel and unnecessary while Alex pointed out their usefulness. Apparently Burr could not even keep that opinion, because here he is, guns in his hands, ready to die over Alexander’s endorsement.

                Alexander, of course, will not back down. He can remember Alex’s commandments clear as day, as if they are forever emblazoned in his mind.

                _Number one – the challenge, demand satisfaction._

_If they apologize, no need for further action._

Of course this is not going to happen, he already knows this. Alexander is too proud and determined and stubborn, maybe even intentionally looking for the escape to death. Burr is too determined to carve out a place for himself; he’ll be damned if he lets this slight to his honor go unavenged. There is absolutely need for further action, because further action is all Alexander knows how to do; because for once, Aaron Burr will not back down.

                _Number two – if they don’t, grab a friend, that’s your second._

Once upon a time, he would have been Alexander’s second, and vice versa; instead now it is Nathaniel Pendleton, whoever he is. William P. Van Ness is the one at Burr’s side, another man he does not know. It does not matter. These seconds are not necessary; both Alexander and Burr are too involved; they both find this matter to be too personal to let anyone else handle it for them.

                _Number three – have your seconds meet face to face._

 _Negotiate a peace –_ clearly something that was unsuccessful, if it was attempted at all.

                _Or negotiate a time and place –_ clearly what happened, because here they are, standing on this field in the early morning, Eliza Schuyler-Hamilton and Theodosia Burr and Hamilton’s children all unaware of what is happening, the blood of Philip Hamilton probably mixed into the dirt under their feet.

                Alexander had always believed that duels were only commonplace among recruits, new soldiers, young men still thriving on bloodlust and violence, searching for their own bits of glory – and he’d always believed that they could be solved easily, just with a bit of reason and maybe some hard persuasion, they would walk away without any violence.

                That will not happen in this situation; the two are both all but baying for the other’s blood.

                _Number four – if they don’t reach a peace, that’s alright._

_Time to get some pistols and a doctor on site._

Already done. Alexander is carrying ornate pistols, the same ones Philip held, the same ones that Alex has used in every other duel. Perhaps they are a sort of lucky charm, one that only works for Alex himself.

                They draw positions; Alexander draws first. Burr looks only more agitated, more afraid; he is all but shaking with nervous energy. Alexander is an expert marksman, one of the best around; Burr can barely hit a target. There is no way he will leave this encounter alive, and for a minute he begins to feel some hope. Perhaps this is not Alexander’s suicide, his final moments. He doesn’t look like a man about to throw his life away – he looks determined, like killing Aaron Burr is a mission he has been sent to do.

                _Number five – duel before the sun is in the sky._

_Pick a place to die where it’s high and dry._

They’ve succeeded in that; the sun is nowhere to be seen; the sky is grey and overcast. Neither of them will be blinded by sunlight; neither of them will be seen and caught by some interfering busybody. Burr will face no further disadvantages.

                _Number six – leave a note for your next of kin._

_Tell ‘em where you’ve been._

Alexander has already done that; he has already written his letter to Eliza. He wonders how much he told her, how many details she will know. He wonders if Theodosia Burr will have a letter of her own.

_Pray that hell or heaven lets you in._

                He never imagined a Heaven while he was alive, or any sort of afterlife, but he has to suppose that this makes sense – what could be better than watching out for those you knew, cared for, loved? You could see whoever you wanted, make sure they were alright.

                Then again, perhaps it was hell, watching those he had once loved do things, make mistakes, even get themselves hurt, and knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

                Maybe it was simply a middle ground, a purgatory, some strange in-between.

                He knows Alexander does not believe in Heaven, in God, in religion overall, or at least he didn’t when he knew him. Perhaps now he does – after all, he has been at his side as Alexander brings his children to church. He follows the motions, the prayers, but how much of that is genuine; how much of that is his true belief?

                Maybe he does not believe in Heaven. Maybe he does not want to believe in it.

                Maybe, if he doesn’t believe, he will not be allowed into whatever this is.

                _Seven – confess your sins._

_Ready for the moment of adrenaline, when you finally face your opponent._

Burr is still giving off the anxiety of a trapped beast, ready to flee at any given moment.

                Alexander is staring at his gun, fiddling with it – and as Alex looks at it, so does he, and he realizes he was wrong. These are not the same pistols that Philip used. These are different ones, new ones, ones that he has never seen before – ones that have a hair trigger, ones that meant he would be able to fire with less force, ones that meant his aim would be steadier.

                Alexander was not preparing to die, he was nearly sure of it.

                He could nearly cry with the joy that this knowledge brings him.

                _Number eight – your last chance to negotiate._

_Send in your seconds, see if they can set the record straight._

In this moment, they might as well skip it. Burr and Alex will not see reason. Both of them will fire. One of them will fall. One will walk off the field; the other will be carried away. There is nothing that Van Ness or Pendleton can do to stop this; no amount of negotiating or arguing or persuading or convincing will make this end.

                This is going to happen whether they like it or not, but it is beginning to look like Alexander will be the one to walk away.

                _Number nine – look him in the eye –_

Both Alexander and Burr are staring each other down. Alex is adjusting his spectacles, his aim, preparing for the moment the duel begins –

                _Aim no higher –_

Philip aimed higher. Philip aimed higher, and it cost him his life, and Alexander can not, will not, make the same mistake, he _cannot –_

                _Summon all the courage you require –_

Neither of them need any more courage; courage and brashness is what brought them to this point –

                _Then count!_

The seconds count down, speaking so fast that the words all but stumble over each other –

                _One two three four five six seven eight nine number ten – paces – fire!_

Everything seems to slow down.

                Alexander has his finger on the trigger but Burr has already shot, the bullet is already moving, and there is nothing he can do to stop it, and Alexander is not shooting, Alexander is not moving, Alexander is standing there and standing there and standing there, letting the bullet make its way towards him; Alexander is throwing away his shot; he was right, he was right, Alexander has come here to die.

                _No._

And yet, there is nothing he can do about it. He cannot intervene, he cannot take the bullet, he can only watch as it travels.

                For a moment, it seems as if Alexander is looking at him, as if he can see him, as if he can see Philip, as if he can see Washington and his mother and everyone else who awaits him in this afterlife.

                He wonders if he is imagining things, and then realizes he is not. Alexander has one foot in the world of the living and the other in the world of the dead, and he cannot decide where to throw his weight.

                He mouths a single word – _Eliza –_ and then –

                He can only watch as Alexander aims his pistol at the sky.

                He can only watch as Burr’s face twists in shock, confusion, regret, as he shouts _WAIT_ in a voice that holds more passion than he has ever heard from him.

                He can only watch as the bullet strikes him between the ribs.

                Burr steps towards him for a moment, but then turns and flees at the urging of his second, leaving Hamilton alone but for the doctor and Nathanial Pendleton and the silent ghosts that watch the violence.

                They take Hamilton, row him back across the Hudson. He mutters a few words, warning them to be careful with the gun, the gun that is still loaded and ready to fire, but he says little more.

                They lock eyes several times, and he knows that Alexander is coming to him; he is approaching the other side; he is making his way towards everyone else who has died.

                They bring him to the house of William Bayard; he is surrounded by family and friends as he dies. Angelica Schuyler-Church, still at her sister’s side, is wailing, sobbing, horrified at the prospect of losing Alexander; Eliza sits at his side in shock. She is not weeping; there is no reaction on her face; she simply holds her husband's hand, already resigned to the knowledge that he will die before long.

                As the sun sinks below the sky, Alexander exhales one last time.

                Alexander Hamilton crosses over, joins him, and for the first time in twenty-two years, they touch.


End file.
